


and darling i'm lost

by heroisms (tiny_white_hats)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Ghosts, Multi, Past Character Death, post season/series 3b AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_white_hats/pseuds/heroisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the thirty days after Allison's death, Isaac and Lydia grieve, start seeing a ghost, and decide to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and darling i'm lost

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a long time in the making, so I'm so glad it finally can see the light of day! Big thanks to artist diannealmond, whose beautiful art was the inspiration behind this fic, and who was an absolute pleasure to work with, and to aromanticmalia, who was the best beta reader I could have possibly asked for.
> 
> rated for and warnings of mentions of character death, profanity, and discussions of grief and trauma.

Day 1

Allison is dead and nobody is in immediate danger and the world isn’t ending, and all Isaac wants to do is hit something until his knuckles bleed.

He doesn’t. Isaac normally doesn’t get what he wants.

 

Day 3

Isaac dreams. He dreams that Allison is alive, that she never died, that she’s crawled home out of her grave, that she’s wrapped around him again, limbs warm and close.

He dreams that Allison is dying all over again. He watches her die in front of him over and over, the way she had and in new, imagined ways. Isaac dreams about Allison like nothing happened, with a regularity that’s as worrying as it is impressive. The dreams don’t slow down the further he gets from the day she died, and Isaac wakes up every morning remembering her face as clearly as he had the last time he’d seen her, remembering her death as vividly as the night he’d seen it happen.

The school counselor, a mousy, anxious man the school had rushed in to fill the void Ms. Morell’s sudden disappearance had left, talks at him about grief and PTSD, tells Isaac how normal this is, how he’s not alone. Isaac nods politely and pretends to listen, but he knows grief, and it is both more and less than this. Grief is hating his father for leaving him alone as much as he hated him for hurting him, grief is the Camden shaped hole in his life, grief is the constant urge to look over his shoulder for Boyd or Erica, just to remember the looks on their faces in death. This is something different.

Isaac isn’t grieving, he is hollowed out, as if all of the best parts of him had been buried with Allison and he hadn’t even noticed until the ground had already cooled. He keenly feels the sense of missing, of something having been lost, misplaced, and the persistent ache to find it. He just doesn’t know how.

 

Day 4

The funny thing about mourning, Isaac thinks, is that it brings people together. Derek had never cared for him more than in the days after Erica and Boyd had just died, just like Camden had been at his best for Isaac after their mother died. Isaac can’t bear it. He can’t stand the way that Scott and Stiles huddle together like they’re holding each other up, the way everybody seems to want to mourn together. He’s spent his entire life losing everybody, one by one by one, and now that Allison is gone too, he’s never felt more alone.

Eventually, though, Lydia finds him. He’s not surprised that she does, Isaac doubts there’s much Lydia can’t find when she puts her mind to it, but he wasn’t exactly expecting her to seek him out.

“You don’t have the monopoly on feeling sorry for yourself,” Lydia tells him coolly, sitting down in the dirt beside him. “You weren’t the only one who loved her.”

“Why are you here, Lydia?”

She raises an eyebrow and looks at Isaac like she’s embarrassed for him. He wouldn’t blame her if she was. “I can’t look at Stiles anymore.”

Isaac can’t either. He sees Stiles and he wants to claw into him, let him bleed out on the ground like Allison had. He looks at Scott and he thinks he’ll be sick, Allison dying in Scott’s arms branded behind his eyes. He hates himself a little bit for that, but it is what it is.

“I didn’t come out into the middle of the godforsaken forest to watch you mope and pretend you hurt more than the rest of us,” Lydia says before Isaac can even figure out what to say next, “so get over yourself.”

“I didn’t ask you to come out here,” Isaac says, as sharp a tone as he can muster.

“But you don’t want me to leave, either.”

“No,” Isaac finally says. “I don’t.”

 

Day 7

Isaac has listened to a lot of school counselors talk at him about grief before. He’s expecting more of the same, more of that new counselor who wore plaid ties over plaid shirts and lectured Isaac like he’d swallowed his AP Psych textbook. He’s not expecting Marin Morell to be back behind the desk, fingers steepled below her chin and wearing the same practiced mask of patience he’s seen on every therapist he’s ever walked out on.

“I thought you got fired, for, like, incompetence or child endangerment or something,” Isaac says, because he’s grieving, and grieving people often lash out. At least, that’s what Ms. Morell herself had told him when he nearly threw a chair over her desk a week after Boyd died. It doesn’t help that he never really wanted to see her again after her pack killed his two best friends, but still. He can blame the grief if he wants.

“Let’s call it a sabbatical,” Morrell says calmly.

Isaac glares. “You shouldn’t’ve come back.”

“I’m just here to help.”

“Maybe I’d appreciate that, but the last time you tried your whole helping shtick, my friends ended up dead.” Isaac pushes up out of his chair and glares at Ms. Morrell. “The last thing I need is your help.”

“Isaac, please,” Morrell stands too, still unflinchingly calm.

“No, thanks,” he snarls and slams the office door behind him. Isaac can practically feel his eyes flashing gold, so he just keeps walking. Out of the office, out of the school, into the woods.

Isaac doesn’t need to talk to Morrell or anyone else. He knows grief, better than anyone he’d ever met. He’s an expert in outliving the people who mattered to him, by now.

 

Day 10

“I loved her,” Lydia says, and Isaac thinks that, as much as he was able to love anybody anymore, he did too.

Neither of them have said her name out loud yet, not that he’s heard. Isaac isn’t sure if they’re respecting each other’s grief, or just being cowards.

“I don’t know if I did,” Isaac says. His voice is raw, and he’s meeting her honesty with his own. “But I felt something for her.”

Lydia reaches across the gearshift to slip her hand into his. Isaac flinches, relaxes, folds his fingers around hers.

 

Day 12

“Would you miss me if I was gone?” Allison had asked him once, looking straight ahead. There hadn’t much to look at, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor of their emptied history classroom, but Isaac wasn’t sure how much Allison had seen, anyways.

“What kind of question is that?” he’d said at the time, just so he didn’t have to answer.

Allison had shrugged. “It’s just something to think on.”

Isaac thought that he would miss her more than he could imagine if she was gone, if Allison left him behind too. He hadn’t wanted her to know, didn’t want to own up to how wrecked he already was, how attached to her he already was, so he’d bumped his shoulder into hers and said nothing at all.

“I think I would miss you,” Allison said softly. “I don’t know, but I think I would.”

At her funeral, Isaac realizes that he had been right, when he thought he’d miss her unimaginably. There is a priest droning about the mercy of the immortal soul and Lydia is clutching his hand like it’s a lifeline, and Isaac thinks he misses Allison so much that he feels like he can’t breathe. Like his lungs won’t fill with air no matter how deep he gasps.

Lydia squeezes his hand a little tighter, and Isaac squeezes back, as tightly as he can without snapping her bones. She’s not the only one who needs a lifeline.

The air is thick, south California humidity, and it smells heavy and sweet, the way graveyard dirt feels in his hands. It’s going to rain that afternoon, and Allison is still dead, and he can’t change that any more than he can change the weather.

They sit next to Chris is the front row of mourners, and try to pretend that they belong. Allison, Isaac thinks, would have loved forcing all of her relatives, people she’d never really known who’d come out of the woodwork to bury her, to make nice with a werewolf and a banshee, making her code matter even after her death.  
It’s a nice thought, but Isaac just wishes that she wasn’t dead.

 

Day 14

“Do you remember most of your dreams?” Lydia asks. Isaac blinks lazily at her, but doesn’t move from where he’s sprawled across her carpet.

“No,” he lies. “Maybe I don’t have dreams.”

“Everybody dreams,” Lydia tells him brusquely. “I could explain the neuroscience behind it to you but I doubt you’d care.”

“Probably not.”

“When you dream,” Lydia continues, completely disregarding his lie. “Do you ever dream of Allison?”

“Yes,” Isaac’s voice is nearly a gasp, harsh and grinding. “Every night.”

Lydia nods. “So do I.”

They are both quiet. Isaac, for his part, is turning over last night’s dream in his head (Allison’s face, pale in death, stretching into a smile, the flash of a knife, a flash of blood). Lydia, he suspects, is steps ahead of him.

“When does it stop?” she asks woodenly. Lydia doesn’t do blank very well, and the fear, maybe of letting go, maybe of never moving on, is clear behind her words. “The dreams.”

Isaac shrugs. “You think I have all the answers because everyone else I ever loved is dead, too?” Lydia doesn’t answer him; she doesn’t have to. “There aren’t any answers. It’s never the same thing.”

“But it’s different this time,” Lydia says, somewhere between a hypothesis and a question and a conclusion.

“It’s different every time.”

“Yes, but it’s different in an unexpected way this time. Am I right?”

“You’re not wrong.”

“How?”

 

“I don’t know. Something feels,” Isaac pauses, searching for a word to describe the gut deep feeling that’s lingered since Allison’s death. It’s impossible to describe, disquiet in a reaching, longing sort of way. “Unfinished,” he says, as close as he can get.

“Unfinished,” Lydia repeats, like she’s trying the world on for size. “What do you mean by that?”

“Let me figure it out, then I’ll get back to you.”

 

Day 15

It’s his mind playing tricks on him, he’s sure of it. Mostly sure. Grief counselor number two had told him that, after he’d thought he’s seen Camden on the street a week after his closed-casket funeral. Sometimes, when you really want to see someone, you believe that you do.

It’s a flash of brown hair out of the corner of his eye, a girl who looks just like her retreating around a corner, her car waiting for her out in the student lot.

He walks into Kira’s dad’s classroom after lunch, eight days after the funeral, and sees Allison, sitting on Mr. Yukimura’s desk with her legs swinging loose. Isaac stops in the doorway and stares. Allison looks right back at him and smiles, rolling her eyes with a laugh.

“Finally,” she says, like she’s been sitting here for ages and just waiting for Isaac to catch up, like she had always been here, like she had never died at all. The sound of her voice, bright and warm and real, hits him like a fucking punch in the gut. He thinks he might throw up, once he relearns how to breathe.

She smiles again, right at him, and disappears. Like she’d never been there, like he’d never seen anything at all. Isaac feels like everything inside of him has disappeared with her, too.

 

He’s not sure why, but he knows he has to find Lydia. Maybe it’s because she’s a genius, of because if anybody knew anything about dead people it would probably be Lydia, or because he knows she’s taking Allison’s death as badly as he is. Maybe all three reasons are right.

He stops by Lydia’s locker, hands trembling and breath tight, where she’s pulling her books out, one by one by one. She takes one look at him and her eyes widen, and the look on her face is the same one she’d worn at Allison’s funeral, like she was physically being torn apart.

“You saw her too,” Lydia says, no preamble, and Isaac mutely nods. “God,” Lydia sighs.

“What the fuck, Lydia?” Isaac says and he’d meant to shout, but all that comes out of his mouth is a weak tremble. He sounds broken, like a scared kid, and he’s so confused and angry and scared and he misses Allison like a goddamn hole between his ribs.

“I thought I was losing my mind again,” Lydia says. “Like the last time, when Peter was living in my head.”

“Yeah, but I’m not like you, Lydia,” Isaac snaps. “Dead people are your thing.”

“Which means that this isn’t just in my head.”

“But why is it in mine?” He’s a mess, terrified and hopeful and grieving and nauseous. He just wants to understand what’s happening, if it’s Allison he’s seeing, why it’s him that’s seeing her, why any of this is happening at all, but it’s like he’s only getting half of the conversation, and Lydia isn’t bothering to say the other half out loud.

“I don’t think she’s in either of our heads,” Lydia says slowly. Her voice is tight and there’s the barest tremor in her hands. She is so brave, so controlled, that sometimes Isaac forgets how hard everything is for Lydia. He remembers now. “I think she’s really here.”

 

Day 18

Scott is sitting on Isaac’s bed when he gets back to the McCalls’, which is tremendously unfair, because Isaac is having one hell of a week, and he doesn’t deserve having to explain to Scott why he can’t even look his friend in the eyes. It’s not about Scott, it’s about Isaac, and all of the myriad ways he’s broken down the middle, but he doesn’t know how to explain that in anything but some kind of bastard cross between ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ and the biggest cry for help in the world.

“Hey, man,” Scott says, looking up at Isaac with eyes like the fucking moon. Goddamnit.

“Scott,” Isaac grunts, dropping his bag in the corner, toeing off his shoes, generally making a menace of himself bustling around the room and looking everywhere but at Scott. “Hey.”

“Listen,” Scott says, “do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Isaac says.

“How are you doing?” Scott says, all earnest and concerned. He sounds so worried about Isaac that it makes him feel sick, guilty like he'd just hit Scott's dog with his car or something appropriately melodramatic.

“I’m surviving.”

“C’mon, man,” Scott says. “Talk to me.”

Isaac finally turns around and looks at Scott. He wants to tell him everything. Tell him that Allison is haunting him, that Lydia could see her too, that he still misses her so much sometimes that he can barely stand, but he doesn’t. He still looks at Scott and sees Allison’s body in his arms, is still bleeding on his knees in that camp. It’s so unfair; he’s never needed his friend more and now he can’t even look at him.

“No offense,” Isaac says finally. “But I can’t talk about this, Scott. It’s been two weeks. I can’t.”

“Can’t talk about this?” Scott asks, as always, understanding too much. “Or can’t talk about this with me?”

“Both.”

Scott nods, and he looks tired and heartbroken and lost, but he doesn’t look angry. “She cared about you, Isaac. I know she did.”

“Jesus, Scott,” Isaac says. “You think I’m upset that she loved you? I’m not. I’m not jealous or some shit like that, okay? I don’t care that it was always you. I knew that the whole time.”

“What is it, then?”

“Every time I look at you,” Isaac says, I see her die all over again. So, I try not to look.”

Scott doesn’t really have anything to say to that. There isn’t really anything he can say. Isaac walks out. Lydia will take him in for the night, just like he would do for her. Leaving he thinks, as he leaves Scott’s house, is the best thing he can do for the both of them.

 

Day 19

Isaac doesn’t want to ask Allison what being dead feels like, only he really, really does. It’s morbid curiosity at its finest, but impulse control has never been his strength. So he asks.

“Lonely,” Allison tells him. They’re in the art classroom this time, sitting on the floor with their backs to the wall. Isaac wonders briefly about the logic behind where Allison appears, but dismisses it. That’s the least important of the questions he has.

“It’s like being alive, but nobody sees me. Like one of those nightmares where no matter how loudly you scream, nobody ever listens.”

“That’s a nightmare people have?” he asks, missing the point on purpose. Allison notices and rolls her eyes. She’s always, he thinks, been too good at reading him. She’d always understood a little more than he was entirely comfortable with.

“It doesn’t hurt or anything,” Allison says. She puts her hand on his knee but it slips right through him. Sometimes he isn’t sure which one of them is having a harder time wrapping their mind around the idea of ghosts. “If that’s why you’re asking. But I’m not happy, either.”

Which is the greater sin, Isaac wonders, giving her up entirely, letting the last remains of Allison die, or keeping her here when she’d rather fully die. He’s not sure there’s an answer.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead of anything substantial, because he is sorry that this is how things are, and because he doesn’t know any better things to say.

“Don’t be sorry,” Allison shrugs. “At least I have you and Lydia.”

“At least,” Isaac agrees, and Allison disappears.

 

Day 21

“Alright, I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen,” Lydia announces, slamming both hands down in front of Isaac. When he looks up at her, startled, Lydia smiles in satisfaction and takes the seat opposite him at the library table.

“Sure, Lydia,” Isaac agrees wryly. “Whatever you say.”

“I’ve been reading up on ghosts. And don’t!” she interrupts herself before Isaac has a chance to, “interrupt me!”

Isaac raises both hands in surrender and says nothing. It seems wiser to just ride this one out.

“I’ve been reading, Dr. Deaton’s been lending me books. Banshee things, mostly.”

“But also ghosts.”

Lydia glares at him, but keeps talking. “But also ghosts. I think they’re real. Uncommon, though they’re a little more common in places like this, with ties to the supernatural. Basically, sometimes, when people die, they don’t do it right.”

“How do you die wrong?” Isaac asks.

“You don’t let go of everything. Or else, something doesn’t let go of you.”

“The Nemeton.”

Lydia nodds, with a tight smile. “The Nemeton. Allison tied herself to it, and I don’t think it knows how to let go.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea what any of this means, Isaac. But I think it means that it’s actually Allison we’re seeing.”

“So what the hell do we do about it?”

For the first time since he’s known her, Lydia Martin looks absolutely helpless. It’s a staggering, sobering look on her, makes Isaac think about inevitability and failure and losing. “I don’t know that either.”

 

Day 22

Allison is waiting in another classroom during his lunch break, their chem room, this time, and Isaac takes a moment to reflect on the oddity of having a routine with his dead almost-girlfriend.

“You’re late,” she says. It’s more of an observation than an accusation, but Isaac is on edge enough that everything feels like an attack.

“Some of us still have schedules to keep.”

“Perks of being dead, I guess,” Allison says, lips curling up, inviting Isaac to share in the joke.

“Jesus, Allison,” Isaac snaps. He feels like a dick for yelling at a ghost. “Sorry. Actually that was kind of funny.”

“Too soon?”

“Something like that.”

In front of him, Alison flickers, freezing in place and coming in and out of focus, disappearing entirely for a moment and letting the light pass through where she’d been. “I’ll wait a few weeks before pulling out the ‘till death do us part’ jokes, then,” she says, like nothing had happened.

Isaac stares at her, waiting to see if she flickers again. She doesn’t, and he can almost convince himself that it was a trick of the light, that he was just seeing things, but he knows what he saw. He wishes there was some instruction manual for communing with the ghost of your recently departed not-quite-maybe-girlfriend.

Allison scowls at him when he doesn’t laugh. “Geez, you used to have more of a sense of humor.”

“I wish I could say you used to be funnier, but that’d be a lie, and I’m not in the habit of speaking ill of the dead.” Isaac says with a weak smile. If Allison didn’t notice her brief fritz, he sure as shit isn’t going to bring it up.

“That’s mean,” Allison says, laughing. She tries to nudge his knee with her foot, but it passes right through him. Isaac shivers, and tries to remember that Allison’s not really here, not all the way. She smiles at him, and all of that is suddenly easy to forget.

 

Day 23

“Ghosts can’t die, right?” Isaac asks. “Because they’re already dead.”

They lay side by side on the floor of Isaac’s room, watching the ceiling like it’s the sky. Melissa barely blinks when Lydia comes over anymore, Isaac thinks she’s just happy he’s talking to someone.

Lydia turns her head to look at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Allison. Yesterday she,” Isaac pauses, stammers and gestures vaguely, trying to find the right word for what happened. “Flickered, I guess. Like, she was there, and then gone. She flickered. Like a bad TV signal, you know. Staticky.”

“I don’t know,” Lydia sighs. “I wish I did.”

 

Day 25

Isaac slips in through Lydia’s window. She rolls her eyes when she sees him, but pushes over on her bed, making room for him beside her. It’s almost like a routine by now.

“Lydia,” he says, voice gravelly. “You brought Peter back to life. How?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember doing it.”

Isaac feels out of sync with everything, like he’s moving half a beat slower that the rest of the world. Lydia doesn’t know if Allison is dying all over again, or if that could even happen. But Isaac knows Allison is growing weaker, growing farther away; he knows he can’t do anything about it; he knows he can’t survive losing her again.

“Peter would know,” Lydia says.

“Then let’s talk to Peter,” Isaac says.

“You’re talking about resurrecting Allison,” Lydia says. “Raising the dead.”

“We’re losing her,” Isaac growls. “You know we are.”

“Bringing someone back to life, it has its costs. Big costs.”

“I don’t care,” Isaac says instantly. “We’re going to lose her again. I don’t care.”

“I loved her,” Lydia says.

“I know.”

“But this isn’t just about Allison. There’s a big picture here, Isaac. And raising the dead? That messes up the entire big picture. That’s a line I don’t know if we can cross.”

“What are you saying?” Isaac asks, sitting up to look at Lydia. She looks worn out, her grief taking a physical toll on her, and there is something approaching heartbreak on her face.

“I’m saying that I can’t do this. Not even for Allison.”

 

Day 29

Isaac looks for Allison, every day, but there’s nothing. She’s gone, all over again, as if her ghost had never appeared at all. It feels like losing her again.

Lydia doesn’t see her either. She’s scared, not that she says as much, but Isaac knows her well enough by now to recognize that’s she’s pale and her face is creased. She finds him on the third day without Allison, so out of sorts that she’s beginning to look disheveled. This, he knows, is a bad sign.

“We have to do something,” Lydia says, backing Isaac into his own locker. He backs up to accommodate her; he may be the werewolf, but he’s under no illusions as to who the dangerous one here is. “You were right.”

“About Allison?”

Lydia nods, sharp and grim. “I don't care about the consequences. I can’t lose her again.”

“I know,” Isaac says, matching the desperation in her tone note for note. “Neither can I.”

*

Lydia wraps her fingers around his wrist right before they enter Derek’s loft. Despite her human strength, her grip is tight enough to bruise. Inside, Peter lounges on a worn couch, feet lazily crossed on a coffee table. Isaac wants to punch him in the face on principle.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to come to me,” Peter drawls. “I honestly didn’t think it would take you this long, Lydia.” Isaac takes a deep breath, and doesn’t lunge for his throat.

“You’re going to tell us how to resurrect someone,” Lydia says, looking down on Peter from above.

“Am I?”

Something like revulsion curls snakelike in his guts, but, beside him, Lydia doesn’t so much as blink. Head high, she looks at the older man without a flicker of interest, and when she speaks, her voice is frozen. “Yes,” she tells him. “You are.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll rip your throat out,” Isaac growls lowly. And, God, he thinks, he really, really would.

“Isaac,” Lydia says, tightening her grip on his wrist. She’s holding on to him, but somehow it feels like he’s the one who needs her as a lifeline. “It’s fine. He’ll tell us what we want to know.”

“How’s that?” Peter asks. He looks curious, like he’s waiting for Lydia to perform some kind of magic trick. Isaac thinks that this, putting herself in the same room as a man who tried to kill her, who used her and tried to drive her mad, without flinching, is already a hell of a miracle.

“Last time we talked, you told me that you made me what I was.” She takes a deep breath but doesn’t falter, walks right into the belly of the beast. “Don’t you want to see what I can do?”

Peter laughs, Lydia tenses beside him. “Lydia Martin,” he says, rising to his feet. “Look at you. Look how far we’ve come.”

“How do I bring her back?”

“You’ll owe me,” Peter warns. “Anything I ask.”

“Done,” Lydia says. “Tell me what I want to know.”

“Easy,” Peter says, and he teaches them how to raise the dead.

*

Allison’s body looks almost as if they’d buried her that morning, pale and still and whole. Lydia says it must be the Nemeton, the same force that’s binding her spirit, preserving her flesh. Isaac says magic is fucking weird. He thinks they’re probably both right.

He tries not to think too much about what they’re doing, digging up Allison’s grave, driving across town with her corpse in the backseat, laying her body across the wide stump of the Nemeton like a ritual offering. He tries even harder not to think about what they’re about to do. If he doesn’t think things through, he can’t think about the possibility of failure.

The ritual is simple enough, blood sacrifice at the stroke of midnight; a banshee to call her and a body to return to, and the Nemeton, to make it all possible. Isaac doesn’t pretend to understand the finer points, but blood for blood, his in exchange for hers, he understands just fine. Life was all about giving things up to get things back, about keeping the balance, about never gaining more than you’re willing to lose.

“Lydia,” he asks weakly. “Are you sure we’ll be...?” Isaac lets his question fade into silence, not even sure himself what he means to ask. He’s not having second thoughts, but there is something about the sight of Allison in death that makes him cold.

“Isaac,” Lydia stops what she’s doing to face him. She takes his hand in hers, smiles the bravest smile he’s ever seen, and says, “You and me, Isaac, okay? Believe me, she’ll come back for us.”

“I believe you,” Isaac says, and he does.

 

Day 30

Allison opens her eyes, and, as one, all three of them breathe.

 

fin.


End file.
